


Doctor Who Ruins The Martian

by AlexisWells



Series: Doctor Who Ruins Stories [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Martian (2015), The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisWells/pseuds/AlexisWells
Summary: Mark Watney crests the hill to the now abandoned Hab with a spear in his side and spots a distinctive blue box between him and his Little Hab on the Prairie. Or, the Doctor ruins a very good book before it can really get started with the helping hand of a bored writer following a very long day at work.
Series: Doctor Who Ruins Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061750
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Doctor Who Ruins The Martian

[sic] I stumbled up the hill back toward the Hab. As I crested the rise, I saw something that made me very happy and something that made me very sad: The Hab was intact (yay!) and the MAV was gone (boo!).

Right that moment I knew I was… what the hell’s that? 

A few dozen pained paced from the Hab airlock (remember, I still have a bit of a hole in my side after all), I saw something I still can’t explain and nobody at home will probably ever believe. 

A blue box. Like… a big wooden box… right in front of the Hab. It’s way too big to be one of our mission’s sample containers, and a stack would have been blown over last night. There’s a light on top almost as bright as the Hab beacon, and it says “Police.” 

Against all logic, against even the instinct of crawling back into the Hab and getting some stitches on this little incised wound I’ve acquired, I found myself hobbling towards the box. 

When I got there, it certainly looked real. I didn’t really want to circle it, blood loss and pain being the factor there, so I settled for putting both arms up and testing how physical it was. I wrapped my arms around it, barely reaching around the sides in the heavy EVA suit. It’s real. 

It’s a big, blue box, and it’s sitting in front of what should have been my home for thirty-one Sols, but ended up being only six. Almost giddily (blame the blood loss and almost fatal lack of properly mixed air), I knocked on the door.

And fell inside when it swung inward.

I had a hard time getting to my feet, even with someone’s help. Whoever it was is strong, lifting me and nearly twenty-five kilos of suit too, even in Martian gravity, must have been a chore. When I looked at him, his mouth was moving and he wasn’t wearing a suit, despite being exposed to the lack of pressure and air. 

I phantomined not hearing by putting a hand up to the side of my helmet, and he circled around to close the door. 

I waved a hand in the air, asking if there is any air. If this is just a dying dream, damned if I’m not polite to it. I’ve read Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet, so I know what dying dreams can do to fuck with you if you’re not polite. I’m a nerdy botanist damnit!

He seemed to say, “Sure, go for it.”

When I got the helmet off, I suddenly felt a fair bit better. Maybe it’s because I’m dead and the pain is gone, or maybe it’s being at the right pressure and breathing good air again. 

“Welcome to the Tardis. Let’s get a look at your side and we’ll get you back to your crew, quick as we can.”

I barely got out a questioning cough before the guy in a tough looking leather jacket whisked me off down a hallway, had me half out of my suit before a pair of nurses (servants, friends, I don’t even know) were swarming me, jabbing me with needles. 

“Doctor, what’s this stuff anyway,” one asked. She’s practically a kid, can’t be any more than twenty. 

“Medi-packs, care of the Captain and some dubious business he claims to have had on Stantisel.”

The other man, a bit older than the girl, but younger than this doctor, said, “Claim nothing! She was gorgeous, but nothing compared to who we’ve got here. An honest to goodness astronaut!”

“There’s a time and a place,” the doctor said.

“What’s going on,” I managed. 

“Don’t you worry,” the girl said, “the Doctor’s gonna take you home proper. We were just kind of around and saw you out there…”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe the kinds of unnatural storms Ice Warriors make to ward off unwanted visitors. You lot learn to avoid planes on this planet for a while, then, well, another time. No real Martian storm gets even half as bad as the one you slept through last night.”

That’s for sure. Surface storms, no matter how bad, shouldn’t have been nearly bad enough to cause a mission scrub. Sure, the wind blows fast, but there isn’t much air to do anything. It’s not like a low pressure front causing a hurricane and pushing around millions of liters of water at random, it’s solar energy pushing around sand, and not a lot of it at that. 

“But… who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor,” the older man said, “and this is Rose and Jack. Like she said, we were in the area and figured we’d check it out to see if anyone needed anything. You’re welcome,” he finished cheerily. 

“But… the MAV left. The crew won’t spend more than a day in orbit following an abort. We don’t have any way off the surface, unless you have a rocket sitting around.”

“Humans, always as thick as their outerwear.”

“Don’t mind him,” the girl, Rose, cut in, “he’s all proud of himself for spotting you outside and insults people he likes.”

“Oi!”

“Oi yourself, Doctor. How about something to eat before we shunt him off to the rest of— which mission is yours again?”

“Ares 3,” I said automatically. I’m so out of my depth that I might be able to manage short bursts of brain power if I try really hard. 

“Yeah, thats—“

“Early Mars missions, middle 21st century. Hey,” Jack said, “what year is it?”

The Doctor answered, “2031, nearabouts.”

“Um,” I said, “2035, thanksgiving is in a couple weeks.”

“Like I said,” the Doctor said, “let’s eat.”

###

On board Hermes, the remaining crew of Ares 3 eat silently, trying not to think of the reason they left Mars and the worse reason for a normally social occasional to be tainted by terse apprehension. 

Commander Lewis was the one to break the silence, once at least half of each bowl was empty. “We break orbit in ten hours. Before then, I need everyone to file their reports for our Earth-bound data dump.”

A round of affirmations came half-heartedly before the room fell back into silence. 

A sudden gust surprised everyone when it was accompanied by a grinding noise. Without more than seconds warning, the crew were up and scattering, reaching for emergency controls to contain whatever catastrophe the noise and wind brought in its wake. That much moving air in a spacecraft screamed “hull breach,” and no one wanted to risk anything further on the way home.

Then the wind died, and the grinding slowly came to a stop with a clang. And there was a tall, blue box standing in the rec. 

The box’s door swung inward, and out walked Mark Watney in jeans and a tee shirt, looking like he’s spent a day in a spa, rather than lying dead with an antenna sticking out of his chest.

“Hey guys,” he said. “You would not believe where I’ve been. I got rescued by aliens!”


End file.
